I don't remember all the details about the special thing that happened one
day, but I know that I shall never forget it to the end of my life.

We were at tea in the garden. Teresa, our old servant, was walking up and
down in her kitchen. She never seemed to have time to sit down to eat Dear
old Teresa! She always seemed like a mother to me, for we had lost our own
dear mother when I was still in the cradle.

My brother and I had quarrelled over a mere nothing, when we were called in
to tea by our father. Of course, we did not dare continue our dispute
openly in front of him, but we continued our war-like activities by kicking
each other under the table.

Louis was ten years old and I was nine. As he was older and a boy, he of
course, considered that he had the right to the last word. Now kicks had
replaced words; but as we were seated at quite a distance from one another,
we did not succeed in causing very great damage to each other's shins.
Notwithstanding this, I began to lose patience, and in order to end the
matter, knowing that Louis was not very courageous, I leaned my chair as
far inside as I could and let him have one terrific kick. At this, his face
changed color and my father now disturbed by the extra noise of my kick,
finally began to realize what was happening. I do not know how matters
would have terminated, if Teresa had not at this moment come into the
garden with a black-bordered letter in her hand which she delivered to our
father. He took it silently and opened it as Teresa carried away the
tea-pot.

I saw immediately by my father's expression that the letter carried serious
news, and I am sure Louis noticed it also for he completely forgot to